


road not taken looks real good now

by clean



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, M/M, Relationship Study, Winter Break, background fp/alice, past betty/archie, taylor swift voice to kiss in cars, the epic highs and lows of romantic friendship, this will get jossed. obviously. i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clean/pseuds/clean
Summary: “Maybe it’s different because we’re growing up,” Jughead suggests. “Maybe we just grew out of each other.”
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	road not taken looks real good now

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i did write seasonal fic in, like, july. this is the slightly more emotional version of that because sometimes you have a convoluted, somewhat-romantic relationship with your high-school best friend - or as the riverdale writers might say, "enduring yet more complex".
> 
> this is short and i don't get into it but know that archie is not going to the naval academy. @ ras you still have time to take that back.

“Can Archie drive me? He’s not as embarrassing,” JB says, and that’s probably where all of Archie’s problems start.

It’s Christmas, but not really; more like a “thank god our kids are still alive three semesters into college” celebratory dinner. It’s one of those times where the Andrews and the Jones-Coopers all get together and act like their kids are getting along just fine, even though Archie and Betty have been broken up for almost half a year and he and Jughead basically only text nowadays. At least Betty and Jughead can pull the whole “we’re step-siblings now so we’ll forget about all of our relationship drama” card—Archie doesn’t get to.

“I’m not _embarrassing,”_ Betty says, offended, from across the table. “Besides, it’s just driving you to your friend’s house, not going inside. If you want to hang out with Archie that badly then just say that.”

“Elizabeth,” Alice chides her, but JB shrugs.

“Yeah, at least he doesn’t mope around all the time like you two do,” she says, motioning between Betty and Jughead. Mary makes eye contact with Archie in a silent question of whether he needs help or not, but Archie shakes his head.

“It’s cool. I can take you, JB,” Archie says, setting his napkin on the table. “Let me get my keys.”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up with someone later tonight, anyway,” Betty adds, and clearly she’s trying to tell him _something,_ but Archie finds that he doesn’t really care to figure out what.

“Jug can go with you,” FP says, and okay, so maybe _that’s_ where all of Archie’s problems start.

“Dad,” Jughead says, almost a warning, but FP waves it away.

“Come on. You two are friends again, right? Betty’ll be out too. Give the adults some time to talk.” Archie’s about to protest that they’re adults now, too, so this is all totally unnecessary, but Jughead doesn’t say anything further, so Archie decides to just deal with it. It’ll be good for them, probably.

“Okay,” he agrees, taking his keys from Mary’s purse hung on her chair. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

“No hurry,” Alice adds, and the adults in the room all laugh. Archie doesn’t get what they’re finding funny, but maybe it’s just that you have to reach a certain age before you unlock the secrets of middle-aged humor, or something. He takes his jacket from the hook next to the door, slipping it on over his sweater, which gets him an eyebrow raise from JB.

“You really need that many layers?” she asks. Behind her, Jughead crosses his arms.

“It’s cold out, JB, maybe you should follow _my_ lead and put on a jacket,” Archie says, feeling horrifically uncool and way older than a week and a half past twenty. She squints at him.

“I’ll be inside the whole time anyway. You sound like Jug,” she says, brushing past him and out the door, leaving the two of them alone in the entryway.

“Well?” Jughead says, after a moment of silence. “Are we going or not?”

  
  


Jughead doesn’t speak up on the drive over. JB takes shotgun before he can get to it, because she thinks that the fact that Archie drives a truck is cool and she likes feeling tall by sitting in the front seat, but Archie doesn’t mind. She takes control of the radio too and turns it to a classic rock station which, like, sure, that’s fine, but Archie really only listens to top 40 hits, and from the last time he’d texted Jughead asking about music recommendations, he still has the same music taste Reggie used to make fun of him for in middle school, so.

Once or twice, Archie glances over at JB as she tells him all about freshman year and her new friends and high school in general, and really wants a sibling. He loves his mom and he loves Brooke, too, but the word _family_ has started to feel a little empty these days, especially with his dad gone and him and Jughead not really spending time together anymore. FP had tried hard to fill a hole in Archie’s life that he’s pretty sure he’ll feel for the rest of his life, but it was never that simple. He still tries, too, but it’s not the same.

The thought stays with him as JB slips her phone into her back pocket and opens the passenger-side door. “Thanks for driving me,” she says.

“Of course,” Archie says. “Anytime.”

“Remember to text if you want to go home early or anything,” Jughead adds from the backseat. JB rolls her eyes.

“I know,” she says. “I don’t have _issues_ with parties. I’ll be fine.” She hesitates and smiles at the two of them for a second. “I missed when you guys would actually do stuff together. It’s like my parents are getting back together.”

“Our _real_ parents are now legally divorced, JB,” Jughead remarks, climbing through the middle gap to take her place in the front. “Go worry about that.”

“Whatever,” she says, turning towards the house. “Have a fun night.” Archie waits before he can see her make it inside to talk.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Jughead responds, and turns away to glance out the window. Archie pulls out of JB’s friend’s driveway and turns back onto Wesley, heading in the direction of home.

The thing is, he could do it here. He could apologize for real this time and they could talk it all out, or they could drive home and act like they’re fine with not being able to discuss anything deeper than surface-level small-talk about school. And Archie’s really been thinking about it tonight, about how he might reach his breaking point in terms of “amount of tension he can deal with” pretty soon, and his tolerance tends to be pretty high. But this just feels too unresolved.

He misses the turn for Elm Street.

“It’s the first left,” Jughead says, the first real words he’s spoken since dropping JB off. “You went past it already.”

“I know where I’m going,” Archie tells him, taking a right onto Pine, passing Betty’s old church and Riverdale High. He ends up parking in the parking lot near the field, kind of like how he would early in the morning before practice. He doesn’t miss football itself, but the routine of it all is a little nostalgic.

Jughead’s already staring at him when he looks over. He doesn’t wear the beanie anymore. Archie wants to comment on it, but it’s probably not the time. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he starts.

“I just want to talk,” Archie says.

_“You_ want to talk?” Jughead asks, but waves his hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that, just instinct. I’m kind of used to us avoiding things.”

“Believe me, I know.” Archie drums his fingers on the steering wheel, needing something to do with his hands. Where does he even start? It’s hard to even get to what he wants to say. Archie Andrews, somewhat well-adjusted, still unable to express his sentiments properly; how cyclical. “I know I already apologized, and you already forgave me—”

“I did,” Jughead says. “What more is there to say? We’re over it. It’s fine, Archie.”

“No, we’re not,” Archie insists. “We’re not close like we used to be. Over the summer we barely hung out, and even then it’s like our families always had to be there. It’s different.”

“Maybe it’s different because we’re growing up,” Jughead suggests. “Maybe we just grew out of each other.”

“You ‘grew out’ of me?” Archie asks, and Jughead pauses. It’s cold outside, and Archie feels it in the quiet stillness.

“No,” he says, softer. “Did you?”

“No.” It’s not like there’s a ton of space between them anyway, but it seems to shrink with that shared confession. Archie can tell that Jughead wants him to repair what he’d broken just as badly as he does; the problem is that he can’t figure out quite _how._ There’s always been something missing, something he hasn’t gotten to yet.

“There’s more,” Archie says. “I never really got to explain it. Me and Betty… it was different than I thought it’d be. It showed me… I…”

“Explain it to me,” Jughead says, but it comes out too rushed and too quiet. “Arch, explain it to me,” so Archie leans over and kisses him.

It’s just once, close enough to nothing for them to pretend it never happened. Jughead is silent and for a second, Archie’s almost afraid that he’s going to apologize, like it’s his fault. That’s how it had gone the last time they were alone, anyway, words that Archie’s had a year and a half to overanalyze: _Whatever I did to you,_ Jughead had said to him, eyes shining in the warm glow of the Andrews’ porch light, _whatever I did to you, I’m sorry._ And Archie had tried to reason with him, _I wasn’t thinking,_ desperate, reaching out, _you didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. It was all me._

Jughead doesn’t say anything, though. He studies Archie’s face for a second, eyes trailing down and back up again, and Archie feels so _seen_ that he’s almost ready to break the silence himself—but he doesn’t have to. Jughead kisses him back.

_It’s not okay,_ Jughead had told him when they fought, _but you can’t punish yourself for it like you usually do. You’re too hard on yourself._ Archie still feels like he’d given him too much credit, but he doesn’t know how to apologize and mean it. Words are small and never really capture what he’s trying to say. A song might work, but Archie hasn’t written an original one on his own since… well. And that memory’s forever associated with Betty’s pink prom dress and the shocked faces of his high-school friends, Veronica leaving a box of her things on his doorstep and kissing him for the last time.

_I’m sorry,_ Archie tries to telepathically communicate, hand tracing Jughead’s side, but unlike a few years ago he can’t tell if he gets the message or not. He backs away momentarily to let him object, or really just say something, anything at all, but Jughead either doesn’t get the cue or doesn’t have anything to say, because he just presses close to Archie again, fingers threading through his hair. Distantly, a part of Archie worries that this is all he’ll ever be good for—the physical part, not the talking part. But Jughead seems to think differently, whispers _it’s just me_ against his lips as if he can read Archie’s mind. It _is_ just Jughead, and if Archie knew what it was he had to say, he could.

It’s weird. It’s weird kissing someone and not feeling an overwhelming sense of self-doubt, it’s weird touching someone and not feeling guilty about the intent behind it, it’s weird wanting someone like this. It’s different than it is with girls. It scares Archie to say it a little, but in some ways it’s better. “Jug,” Archie starts when they break again, but Jughead shakes his head.

“Shut up,” he breathes, probably something he’s used to hearing himself. He slips his hands under Archie’s sweater and no, this isn’t the good way of dealing with things, but it’s the only way Archie knows how. Their noses bump together and Jughead almost laughs before Archie kisses him again, stealing the noise from his mouth. He tries to project his apology into it: _Sorry for kissing Betty. Sorry I betrayed your trust. Sorry for dating her. Sorry for not getting why dating girls never really works. Sorry for not figuring those things out before I’d already kind of lost you._ He’s sure Jughead’s trying to tell him something back, but he still can’t figure out what it is. Everything always feels indefinable; Archie just wants to know something.

Jughead pulls away, reaches up to touch Archie’s arm over the layers, crushing the fabric between his fingers. He looks disappointed, suddenly, like a realization just hit him.

“What?” Archie asks, worried. _Is there something wrong? Is it my fault?_

“Is it still there?” he asks, still holding Archie’s jacket. It takes Archie a second to figure out what he’s referring to, because yes, he still has his arm and all that, that’s kind of obvious, but then he realizes that it’s his shoulder and oh: his Serpent tattoo.

“It’s still there,” Archie confirms. “Why? What did you expect?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Jughead admits. “I guess it’s kind of stupid to think that you would’ve gotten it removed. I mean, it’s a lot of effort, and it’s not like it’s not true anymore.” And yes, the Serpents would probably still have Archie’s back if he ever needed it, but the biggest threats he faces nowadays are unnecessarily difficult gen-ed midterms and his roommate forgetting to text him in advance when he has girls over. The mark on his shoulder has never been a mark of their protection, anyway, not as much as it’s been a symbol of Jughead’s, of his loyalty—of possession, almost.

Archie wants to express all that, but instead, it comes out like: “Do you have a—you know.” _Girlfriend? Partner?_ Archie’s not entirely sure what the appropriate word would be. “Like, a significant other.” The term feels a little silly, but it’s not like Archie wants to call the guy he just made out with straight. And even besides that, well—it’s _Jughead._

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Jughead says, answering both of Archie’s questions, unspoken and otherwise. “Obviously. I wouldn’t have…” And there’s an old wound fully reopened, again. Jughead’s expression visibly shifts. “You kissed Betty.”

“Yeah,” Archie says; it’s not like there’s a reason to defend himself. His hand settles on Jughead’s knee involuntarily, drawing circles with his thumb across the denim. “I did.”

“I kissed you,” Jughead says.

“You did,” Archie says, and Jughead exhales, his hand dropping from Archie’s shoulder to his chest, a few inches shy of resting over his heart. Archie feels like he can’t breathe. “Jug. What do you want?”

“I want,” he tries, and hesitates, glancing away. “I wanted…” A long pause. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Archie,” he says finally, not looking up. It’s not completely out of left field, but Archie still hadn’t expected that from him—probably because he and Jughead have mastered the art of talking around whatever _this_ is, whatever it’s always been.

“I hadn’t… I hadn’t really thought about that,” Archie says.

“I’m not saying _you_ did,” Jughead responds, covering Archie’s hand with his own on top of where it rests on his leg, and there are so many things that Archie has to tell him about that he doesn’t even know where to start. _Senior year, those 36 hours when we didn’t know where you were or what was happening to you—I felt like I was being torn apart._ Or maybe he’d need to go back earlier: _Back when Hiram turned me against everyone I cared about, he couldn’t turn me against you. I knew you could never hate me. I know it because I could never hate you._ He wants to ask if that’s still true, but deep down he thinks it has to be. He wouldn’t have asked about the tattoo, otherwise.

“I don’t understand,” Archie says instead. He doesn’t. This should be easy. Things between them have always been easy, every fight underlaid with the knowledge that they’ll make up for it somehow, that no matter what they always come back together. Jughead sighs, still close enough that Archie can feel the movement.

“This isn’t good, Arch,” he says. “It’s not… this isn’t healthy. It’s codependent.”

“We literally haven’t spent time alone since before graduation,” Archie says. “Just texting. How could that possibly be codependent?”

“Yeah, and look at us fifteen minutes into being alone,” Jughead says, and he’s not wrong. “Come on. You know we’re not—we’ve never been _normal.”_

“Do we have to be normal? It’s Riverdale,” Archie says. “I don’t think we ever had a chance.” Jughead is silent again, looking conflicted. He reaches up to run a hand through Archie’s hair again.

“Arch,” he says. Archie catches his wrist and Jughead stills—Archie hates it, hates how badly he wants this in a way that he hasn’t wanted anything before.

“Stop that,” he tells him. “You kissed me.”

“It’s just a kiss.”

“Is it?” Archie asks, and for a second he thinks he might’ve pushed too far, but Jughead doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Archie the same way he had back when they were fifteen: _What do you know about it, Jughead? Or about me, even?,_ Archie had spit out, as if the football team and Geraldine and that aching need to fit in somewhere eclipsed every moment spent together since before they knew how to talk. _Nothing,_ Jughead had told him, angry and confused and unable to understand him, and Archie had felt like maybe it was more true than either of them would’ve liked it to be.

“Can you take me home?” Jughead asks. “Please.”

“Jug,” he attempts, but Jughead detaches himself from him, sitting back in the passenger seat and clicking his seatbelt into place.

“Let’s just go home,” he says again, so Archie does, doesn’t even broach the subject, just swallows any other words he might’ve wanted to say. He hasn’t been through anything _really_ catastrophic since everything about the tapes and Charles’ arrest senior year, but maybe that’s just because the only way someone like him will ever be able to deal with life is relatively. _At least this isn’t like the time I was a part of a prison fighting ring. At least this isn’t like the time I got attacked by a bear. It could be worse,_ he tells himself. _It could always be worse._ In terms of things Archie’s been through, this should be one of the easiest.

When he parks the truck on Elm in front of 2037, Jughead immediately moves to open the door. Archie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Jug. Hey. This isn’t… it, right?”

“Of course it’s not,” Jughead says. He looks out the windshield as if there’s something there, avoiding Archie’s eyes. “I just can’t… do this today. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Archie agrees. “Fine. That’s cool. You sure we’re good?” Jughead touches his hand where it rests on the steering wheel.

“I’m sure,” he says, and Archie believes him. Part of him, the part that’s not on-edge about ruining their friendship, actually feels a little grateful that out of all the things out there in the world _this_ is his biggest issue right now.

“I’m not a bad kisser or anything, right?” Jughead laughs.

“Much better than last time,” and Archie mentally tries to do the math there before he realizes.

“I was like, seven,” he says. “You _cannot_ hold that against me.”

“You made up for it,” Jughead teases before he shakes his head, getting serious again. “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve just been kind of… messed up. Since you and Betty. And I get that you kind of realized now that you’re, well.” He makes a hand motion, obviously not wanting to label Archie when Archie can’t say it out loud for himself yet, which he’s grateful for. “And that helps, I guess. But it still hurts. I think I just need time.”

“I get it,” Archie promises, turning his hand over to curl his fingers around Jughead’s. “I’ll do whatever, you know? I don’t want to grow apart. Even if you’re a thousand miles away.”

“We’re not going to,” Jughead tells him. “I swear. I’m sorry if it feels like an unsatisfying answer. It’s just—I need time.”

“Time,” Archie repeats, and Jughead pulls his hand away, unlocking the passenger-side door.

“Yeah,” he says, “good night, Arch,” and when he closes the door behind him, Archie waits for a long moment before breathing out. This has to be it—the one last loose end, the one piece missing. The unexpressed sentiment. There’s still so many things left to untangle, some of which he’s started in therapy and with his friends and with his parents, but this one seems clearer, now.

_Time,_ he thinks, hope rising in his chest. It feels like a promise worth keeping.

**Author's Note:**

> i just think archie andrews should get hopeful endings. title taken from ['tis the damn season](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuvhOD-mP8M) \- taylor swift. feel free to leave a comment or say hi over on [tumblr](https://englishmajorjughead.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
